


Reality Check

by sweezey



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lucid Dreaming, More tags to be added, Nightmares, Rivalry, Torture, dream powers, rock paper scissors, suspicious tea, trippy mind games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweezey/pseuds/sweezey
Summary: Kyoko is a private investigator following a trail of suspicious disappearances - but the villain in question doesn't seem all too bothered at the prospect of being caught.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Celestia Ludenberg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. i saw you in a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspo for the end of this chapter came from this chain of tumblr posts since I am not nearly smart enough to come up with it on my own...enjoy! https://www.thepoke.co.uk/2016/04/19/the-code-is-sherlock-holmes/

Kyoko Kirigiri was no stranger to creative nightmares. 

Once, she had observed a man getting bound down with white-hot chains in his dreamscape. Kyoko recalled the acrid smell of burning flesh, the agonizing sensation of feeling foreign skin recoil from iron. His mouth had then been filled with angry hornets, then stitched shut - leaving him to choose between swallowing them or feeling their merciless stings on his tongue. 

Another time, she had watched impassively from the eyes of a woman who was, with excruciating slowness, reliving every single bad decision she had ever made. The woman had been utterly powerless to stop herself, unable to even turn away, waves of dread and mortification swelling in response to her own past actions.

Through foreign eyes, she had spectated hundreds of horrifying amalgams of medieval torture techniques, horror movie-esque scenarios, and irrational fears - all animated to just the cusp of reality. 

Fears, Kyoko found, had a way of unraveling more about someone than words ever could. 

A single touch was all it took to drag a man through his personal hell for an eternity in the blink of an eye. 

A single touch was usually all it took to make the target break down, beg, plead for mercy, claw the arms of his chair until his nailbeds bled raw.

Screams of agony, with practice, could fade into white noise. 

_ It’s barbaric,  _ accused an irritating part of her conscience. 

She took no sadistic pleasure in the ability. It was business, simple as that - the most efficient (if not the most ethical) method of getting the information she wanted. Their weaknesses pinpointed, their mental barriers lowered, Kyoko could easily corrode through their psyche and fish whatever she needed from them out of the aftermath. What happened to the targets afterwards was none of Kyoko’s concern. 

_ You’re a monster,  _ the voice insisted.

_ If that’s what it takes to hunt them, then so be it. _

Batting aside the mental prattle with a practiced ease, Kyoko’s scarred fingertips methodically skimmed across case files by the dozens, seeking by touch the one she had specially reserved for today. Upon finding the desired tab divider, she plucked out the folder and cautiously set it on the table before her. Kyoko then reached into her pockets to retrieve her gloves, as she waited patiently for the man sitting before her to catch his breath.

He was a sight to behold: eyes raw and nose running, a once-carefully-coiffed pompadour unraveled over his broad shoulders, pathetic pleas escaping his lips as he stared into nothing. There was no need to question why he was behaving so. She had already experienced his hell right alongside him. 

**_..._ **

_ The warm glow of admiration, laced with the cold prickling of envy. An older boy with a jet-black pompadour, handing out brotherly advice and affectionate pats on the back. Residual heat drawn from a spotlight that denied him. Mounting frustration, suppressed rage, a burning desire to be respected. A challenge, born from humiliation and powdered with good-natured competition. Sparks flying as metal agonized against metal. A strategic swerve into oncoming headlights. A hard shove, a loud crash, a million eyes blinking at him in perfect synchronization. The insurmountable weight of guilt and broken promises dawning on his shoulders. His brother’s shadow loomed over him, as gargantuan as ever, whispering  _ **_you still need me, you’re nothing, my blood is on your hands-_ **

Stop.

_ Kyoko, slipping out of the man’s frozen, incorporeal body, concentrates on funneling the unconscious mind into a state of hyperlucidity as Mondo stands frozen with fear.  _

I’m in a dream _ , she reminds herself, glancing down at her hands.  _

_ A familiar disdain twists a knife in her stomach as her eyes involuntarily trace the puffy network of old burn scars ribbing the surface of her palm. A reminder of the price she was forced to pay for power she never asked for. Kyoko ignores it. She counts her fingers. Ten. Eight. Nine. Back to ten. _

I’m in a dream.

_ The heavy fog of panic and disorientation crystallizes into sharp focus.  _ That’s better _ , she thinks, pulling a pocketwatch from the folds of her jacket. A weathered timepiece, a rare gift from her grandfather. The dull bronze of the chain is barely visible, choked by layers of rust. She doesn’t need it here, not really, but the use of a clock to manipulate time is logical. Controlled. Makes sense, in a place where little else does.  _

_ Kyoko twists the crown. _

Rewind _.  _

_ Scenes from the nightmare play backwards, gaining speed. _

_ Guilt. Millions of eyes. A crash, a swerve, sparks competition challenge frustration brother - _

_ His brother. _

_ She listens again, carefully this time, to every word. Observes the way he reacts to seeing Daiya, hearing Daiya, being haunted by Daiya, again and again, admissions of guilt and pleas for mercy curling on the tip of his tongue as the man breaks down in earnest anguish.  _

_ Once Kyoko’s certain she has everything she needs, she tucks the watch back into her pocket. Touches a hand to Mondo’s frozen shoulder. Allows them both to dissolve.  _

**_..._ **

“Take this time to gather yourself.” Kyoko spoke in a measured tone, freshly re-gloved hands folded in her lap. “You’ll need to be fully awake for this.”

The man struggled alert at the sound of her voice, gritting his teeth and glaring daggers in Kyoko’s direction. 

“What the  _ hell _ ,” he snarled, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he rattled the manacles binding him to the arms of his chair. “The flier said this was a local bike show, not some psycho lady slipping me bullshit nightmare drugs and locking me up. I don’t know what you did to me, but whatever it was, it didn’t work, understand? Let me go right now and I might just consider letting you keep a couple of your teeth.”

“Is that a threat? You wouldn’t  _ really _ hit a woman, would you?” She raised an eyebrow at him, unfurling the case file with deliberate gloved hands. 

“In Daiya Owada’s own words -” Kyoko said, making a mental note of the way he flinched at the name - “Anyone who raises their hand to a woman is scum that deserves death. Isn’t that right?”

The man turned pale. “How in the hell could you possibly know that -”

“Does that make you scum, Mondo Owada?” Her voice was soft, now, but unmistakably biting at the edges. “Tell me...what else would you call a man who kills his own brother?

“What the... no. No, it-it was an accident. It was an  _ accident _ , I swear, you don’t know anything, you weren’t even there, he - just shut the fuck up! Fucking bitch! Let me go!” He blustered, yanking once again at the iron cuffs encircling his wrists. 

Kyoko didn’t flinch. “I’m glad you’re making this easy for me, at least. Usually, I have to do a bit more prodding to find the weak spot, but  _ your _ biggest fear…” She leaned in, observing the way his breath hitched ever so slightly.

“It’s already happened, hasn’t it?”

The man went silent. 

A smirk twitched at her lips, victory secured. “Let’s cut to the chase. The Crazy Diamonds rarely deviate from their typical bike gang dealings - street racing, turf wars, and riots against law enforcement.”

“Is that why you-”

Kyoko flipped through the case file, lips pressed thin. “I don’t care about that. That’s not why I brought you here. What I  _ am _ interested in, though, is the peculiar delivery service that your gang has been providing for a special client. Being a messenger boy doesn’t fit the typical job description of a bike gang leader, now does it?” She pushed on, cutting him off before he had a chance to respond. 

“So, Mondo Oowada. What can you tell me about the deliveries the Crazy Diamonds were seen transporting on these days?” She plucked a document from the file, a laminated sheet filled with circled dates, and slid it smoothly across the metal table. The man craned his neck to read what it said.

“Lady, do I look like some kind of calendar to you? There’s no way I could remember what happened on-”

“I  _ suppose _ ,” Kyoko countered, “That I could also try and find the transaction records - if deals as foul as these ever intend to leave a trace. Alternatively, I could arrange a direct interrogation with the members of your gang as well. It would be unfortunate if I had to resort to that after bringing you all this way. It would be unfortunate for you, too, as I have no way of guaranteeing that your secret about Daiya is safe in my hands.” 

The man scowled, chewing on his lower lip as he weighed the possibilities in his mind. “...She told us that the only thing we needed to do was keep our heads down and deliver, no questions asked. With the amount of cash she offered, we basically did whatever she said.” 

_ How easily won over for someone who’s supposedly learned such outstanding morals from his older brother _ , Kyoko noted to herself wryly. “And did you have any idea as to what, exactly, was being transported in those crates? Or why she requested an outlaw organization to deliver it?”

“Hey, didn’t I  _ just _ say we didn’t ask any questions? Are you deaf or something?” he barked, spittle flying from his lips. Kyoko said nothing. Seconds ticked by like hours. His fury wilted under her cold, patient stare. 

“There...there was no way I coulda known for sure, but the crates had little holes in the sides, and they were heavy, and the Witch told us to be careful with them, ‘cause they were fragile, and to never look inside the boxes... but I thought they were just some kinda rare poached animals and she didn’t want us to know. Rich people business, whatever. That’s fine, I never really cared about that shit in the first place. The only hogs the Crazy Diamonds need are our rides.”

Distaste formed a lump in Kyoko’s throat. “Fair enough. And who did you say your client was? A witch?”   
  


“No, that’s what she calls herself - the Decoy Witch. Can you believe it? Besides telling us where to pick up and drop off the crates, she didn’t tell us jack shit, not even her real name.” Mondo tested his shackles again, almost absentmindedly. “Not that it made a difference to us. If she wants to roleplay some weird persona, that’s her fuckin’ business, not ours.”

“I see,” she mulled, suppressing a slow grin of triumph. “Then would you happen to recall the location where you dropped off those crates?”

\---

It is very difficult, Kyoko learned, to cling to someone for dear life while trying to touch them as little as possible. 

She clamped her thighs to the flashily-painted sides of the motorbike, gritting her teeth at the deafening roar of the engine. Sweat condensed under her helmet, lavender hair sticking to the back of her neck. Street lamps, city lights, then trees blurred by at a dizzying speed, causing Kyoko to lower her head and shut her eyes tight.

Mondo seemed to delight in her queasiness, amping up the speed every time the detective clutched his sides tighter. She curled her knuckles until they were white over the dark fabric of his jacket, hoping desperately that it might be enough to keep her from flying off the back of the bike.

_ This situation is completely out of your control, _ her internal voice chastised her.  _ Awful things could happen to you right now and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. What were you thinking? This isn’t like you. _

_ It isn’t like I had an abundance of options _ , she fired back, fighting off nausea. The route to get to her destination was a long and winding one, with plenty of tight squeezes that Mondo had affirmed cars couldn’t possibly fit through. “The only way there is by bike,” he had said, “and the only one of us who knows how to get there by heart is me. Take my offer or leave it.”

Kyoko had taken it - and was, for the most part, regretting her decision to. Thick underwood and brush nipped playfully at her bare legs, leaving scratches and stray leaves behind. 

Finally, the motorcycle screeched to a stop in front of a rough-hewn stone staircase leading up to a shack built into the side of a hill. 

“This is where I drop ‘em off,” Mondo grunted. “No idea what happens to the crates from here. I’ve never gone inside. They’re always gone by the next shipment, though. Anyway, I don’t know anything else, so just leave me and my gang the fuck alone from now on, got it?”

Gladly unlatching the clasps of her helmet, Kyoko dismounted the motorbike, taking a brief moment to steady herself. “You have my word.”

Mondo scoffed, revved the engine, and took off, leaving her with a mouthful of exhaust smoke and bitter saliva. 

Patting down her skirt and taking a deep breath, Kyoko reminded herself to invest in backup modes of transportation for the next time she was stranded out in the middle of absolutely nowhere.  _ Nowhere to go but forward. _ She climbed up the steps and knocked tentatively on the door to the inconspicuous gray cellar. No reply. The scuffed door was secured by an equally weathered four digit punch-code lock. 

Kyoko had no means of prying open the door - the only tools she was armed with consisted of a phone, pocketwatch and a small handgun. Shooting off the lock would be ill-advised for a multitude of reasons: if any children really were being stored inside, a shot had the chance of hurting them, plus the blast would immediately alert anyone within a mile. Furthermore, the sun had long since set, and she had no foreseeable way of getting back - even if she managed to break into the cellar by force and retrieve them, wandering through a branching forest road with a group of children in the dead of night would be a certifiably awful plan. This was a situation that required stealth. She would have to infiltrate the building quietly and return with a team once she confirmed that this was, indeed, the place.

Illuminating the passcode lock using the light from her phone, Kyoko inspected the keypad of the lock. Time had clearly done it a disservice - the paint on the numbers zero, one, seven, and nine in particular were corroded beyond recognition, making them identifiable only by their positions. A four digit lock meant there weren’t likely to be any repeats, meaning there were 24 possible correct combinations. It wouldn’t take long to input them all, but Kyoko ran the risk of activating an alarm after too many incorrect attempts. The most likely option was 1970: most people, when choosing a 4-digit code, would input their birth year. Judging by the sorry state the keys were in, the lock had clearly been used for some time. 

Carefully and deliberately, Kyoko punched in “1 9 7 0”. The lock buzzed red. She frowned, re-evaluating her approach. She examined the blotches on the keys closer, noting that the patch on the zero was the largest, followed closely by seven, nine, and one. From a chemistry standpoint, there would be more naturally corrosive oils on a fingertip upon the first press of a key, meaning the first digit was likely to be the most worn. Her next guess was “0 7 9 1”. Again, the lock buzzed red.

Kyoko stared at the door broodingly, beginning to wonder if shooting it down might not be such a bad idea after all.  _ Think. Think. Think. _

Hit by a flash of inspiration, she typed “0 7 1 9”. People always chose passcodes they could remember easily. It was a birthday - the 19th of July. Of course. It was so  _ simple _ , why hadn’t she thought of it sooner -

The lock buzzed red.

The door, however, swung open.

“For goodness’s sake,” said the Decoy Witch, exasperation evident in her tone, “Just come in, won’t you, dearie?” 


	2. you came to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which they bond over tea!

The interior of the cellar was unexpectedly lavish and spacious, in contrast to what its dismal exterior had implied. The Witch had led her inside with all the humble graciousness of a peacock, urging her to take a look around “her dazzling abode” while she prepared tea. Checkered linoleum created a dizzying spiral that sprawled outwards from beneath the plush velvet carpet Kyoko stood on, and the chandelier suspended above her head perfectly complemented the furnishing - including a mahogany table, a wine-red couch, and rows upon rows of gothic Victorian-style bookshelves. Rather than books, however, the shelves were stocked with hundreds upon hundreds of glass vials. Upon inspecting closer, Kyoko discovered that each sample housed some sort of moving substance. 

One contained something that looked a bit like dark blue sand, slogging back and forth within the container as if it had recently been extracted from a gravity-defining hourglass and didn’t find its new home particularly pleasant. Elegant, swooping handwriting on the label announced “ _ Lethargy Edition 2 _ ”.

One appeared to be caging dozens of fretful sea urchins - tiny black balls of spikes took turns frantically launching themselves against the interior of the glass, colliding into each other and becoming tangled in a mess of barbs. This vial was named “ _ Anxiety Edition 12 _ ”.

One was nearly reminiscent of the sun: radiant, emanating a warm and pleasant heat through the glass as it danced like the flickering of a flame. Looking closer, Kyoko noticed that the contents of this one, while brilliant, were dwarfed in comparison to the quantity of the others. The label simply stated “ _ Contentment _ ”.

“It’s rude to look through someone’s belongings while they’re away,” a saccharine-sweet accent singsonged from the doorway. The Witch stood there with a teaset tray in one hand, sizing her up with a catlike grin. “Did you find anything interesting, my dear detective?”

Perfectly coiled drills of jet-black hair bounced against the back of her dress as she approached, clicking red heels against the linoleum in perfect time to the pendulum of the grandfather clock. 

Kyoko found herself momentarily transfixed by the large tear-shaped brooch at her opponent’s throat - one reminiscent of a crimson drop of blood that might have welled from a blade. The surface of the gem was marred by a maze of glowing fractures, highlighting the absence of a sizable shard. 

She shook her head. “Listen. You clearly know who I am, and we both know what I’m here for. Let’s just cut straight to the chase -”

The Witch sighed, setting the tray down on the table before her with a soft clatter. “You commoners...always in such a rush. What, are you afraid of wasting your already-insignificant lifespan if you stay for tea?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Where are they? I know they were transported here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

The Witch was met by an unimpressed glare. 

“Fine then, I suppose we can compromise. What if we were to make a bet? If you win, I give you my word that I will answer all of your pesky little detective questions.”

“What kind of bet?” Kyoko prodded, tone wary.

“ _ That _ , my dear -” delight sparked in the Witch’s eyes as she pulled out a seat at the table, a well-rehearsed monologue coiled at the tip of her tongue, “- is about to be determined.

As you no doubt have noticed by now, I have been a collector of sorts for centuries. I can draw out human fears, emotions, insecurities, dreams, and so on, trapping them in vials for my own purposes. Naturally, this makes me rather infamous in the gambling world - after all, the stakes I offer are a bit more unique than money or material possessions. I’m known as the Decoy Witch: miserable, pathetic loners hoping for one last chance at ridding themselves of their caliginosity come to me, gambling away their happiness in the most literal sense possible. But, you see, the scrapings of joy that comes from gamblers who reek of desperation are...insufficient. Weak. Short-lived. I need something stronger.”

“Is  _ that _ your reason for abducting children?” interrupted Kyoko.

The barest hint of a scowl brushed the Witch’s porcelain smile. “My, my, leaping to assumptions already? I already told you, the time for questions will come later.” She gestured towards the seat opposite her impatiently. “Now, then - the tea is getting cold. Let’s take a seat and have a proper chat, hm?” 

Kyoko begrudgingly took a seat.

The tray held a sleek tea set, ivory and ebony ceramic fused together with delicate veins of gold. She watched with trepidation as the Witch poured a deep red liquid closely resembling blood into two mismatched cups.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” The Witch sipped her tea, noting Kyoko’s scrutiny.

She raised an eyebrow. “The tea set or the tea itself?”

“The tea set, obviously. Don’t you find it interesting how the cracks in the cup are the very things that make it valuable?” Red fingernails traced the golden joinery. “This set in particular is one of a kind - absolutely priceless. Two types of ceramic, molded to reflect each other perfectly in shape, were broken to fit into each other’s hollows.”

“I admire the origins of the idea,” said Kyoko, choosing her words carefully. “The idea of mending a mistake in a way that could be considered beautiful is...optimistic. But intentionally breaking both means that you lose the integrity of the original designs. I’d argue that it’s a waste to create flaws where there aren’t any."

“Couldn’t it be possible that the cracks in both had already existed in the first place?”

“I have a hard time believing that fate can be so coincidental.”

“How shrewd you are.” 

A pause stretched as the Witch studied her opponent. The detective’s tie was disheveled, her blouse wrinkled. Her lavender-colored hair was swept into a high ponytail, wispy flyaways tucked away from the dark rings circling her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in weeks. The Witch silently preened, flattered by the knowledge that she had been the object of Kyoko’s fixations. 

“Try a cup of pomegranate tea, won’t you, dear? You look like you could afford to unwind.”

“And drink something you made?” Kyoko murmured, narrowing her eyes as she examined the suspiciously-colored liquid in her cup. The hue of the tea perfectly matched that of the bloodred brooch at the base of the Witch’s throat, the one she would absentmindedly touch whenever she seemed to be lost in thought. 

Her gaze shifted upwards. The Witch’s face was perfectly symmetrical, with a face so delicate and smooth that it resembled a well-crafted mask rather than human skin. Piercing, wine-red red irises gazed back from beneath long eyelashes, framed by a dark sweep of perfectly-coiffed hair. Notes of cherry and molten honey diffused into the air with her opponent’s every languid, sweeping, movement. 

If Kyoko hadn’t known better, she might have even called her beautiful.

_ But she did know better, and no amount of tea or pleasantries or perfume could sweep over the fact that something here was terribly wrong. At first glance, all seemed well - one would easily chalk up any irregularities to simple eccentricity. Upon further observation, though, one might notice the puppetlike motion in which she blinked, or the perfect rigidness of her spine, or the way each of the joints on her hands were tightly concealed with rings and lace.  _

_ One might notice the cracks in the porcelain doll that had been so artfully hidden beneath intricate layers of ruffles and synthetic drills. _

_ She wondered, dimly, if these had been intentional too. _

“I don’t even know what it is,” Kyoko finished, sucking in a bladed breath at the unwelcome heaviness that had so suddenly settled on her chest.

“Here I was thinking you were some sort of famous detective,” sighed the Witch. “This is pomegranate tea, as I’ve already said. It’s filled with all sorts of healthy vitamins, and even has anti-inflammatory effects - which it seems like you could use, darling. Your face is looking rather red and bloated at the moment.”

“...Sure. But that doesn’t change the fact that you could very well have slipped ‘Lethargy’ or something worse into my cup. You’re a fugitive, and I’m the detective who’s just entered your base of operations. It’s only logical that you would want to get rid of me as efficiently as possible. I have no intention of making this easy for you.”

“Ah! You wound me, my dear detective...” the Witch said, not looking wounded in the slightest. “Do you suspect foul play? I could never dream of resorting to a tactic so low - I doubt you have any idea of how long I’ve been waiting for this opportunity to speak with you face-to-face. And from what I can tell, you’ve been likewise eager to meet me.” 

Her eyes twinkled. “Isn’t that right, Spectator?”

Kyoko stiffened. 

“Besides,” the Witch murmured, lifting the untouched cup to her mouth, “I save my vials for much more important matters.” She took a long sip of blood-colored tea, pinky finger pointed up in a pretentiously aristocratic fashion. The cup was then set on the table with a soft  _ clink _ , and Kyoko found her eyes drawn to the crimson that had perfectly stained her opponent’s glossy lips. 

“See?” Soft petals straightened into the shape of a prim smile. “Not poisoned.”

“Enough of this,” Kyoko said, face hardened in a stoic mask as she reclaimed her cup. “Just tell me about the wager.”

“You certainly are in a hurry, aren’t you? Settle down. We still have much to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Ah, well...your abilities, for instance. I’ve heard much about them from secondhand accounts, but I must know your side of the story.” The Witch leaned forward, chin nestled in her hands, eyes wide. “Tell me, Spectator - how is it that you can enter other people’s nightmares?”

“I don’t see why that would be relevant at this point.” 

Practiced laughter chimed in Kyoko’s ears like glass bells. “Deflecting already, detective? It’s all too relevant, actually - considering our little game will be taking place on your home turf.”

Kyoko choked on her tea mid-sip. The Witch watched her, amused. 

“It’s only fair, after all - you put yourself at a disadvantage by entering my domain, so it’s only natural that I return the favor by entering yours. I also won’t deny the fact that I’m curious to witness your abilities first-hand after hearing so many rumors about you.” Red claws tapped the mahogany table in cadence to her words. “Your speciality is in finding someone’s greatest fears, correct? If you manage to pinpoint my weak spot, I give you my word that I’ll tell you anything you desire.”   
  


Swiping tea from the corners of her mouth with the back of a glove, Kyoko silently evaluated the risks. Surely there had to be more to it than this. It was highly implausible that this  _ child-snatching demon _ wanted to accompany her to the dreamscape - to uncover her  _ greatest fear _ , no less - out of sheer  _ curiosity _ . 

“Interesting. What’s the catch?” She asked, eyeing the bottled-up emotions on the shelves.

The Witch appeared to ponder over this, humming as she stroked her chin. “Oh, nothing, really…” Then she grinned with delight, as if a brilliant realization had just now dawned on her. “Ah! I know just what would make this more interesting - I could search for yours as well! The first to expose the other’s deepest fears will win the bet. How does that sound to you?”

A wry laugh bubbled up from Kyoko’s throat. “That certainly sounds like an ill-omened mind game. And what happens if I lose, exactly?”

Glossy red lips parted to show rows of sharp teeth. “I’ll drain the life out of you, of course.”

Kyoko gave her opponent a scathingly unimpressed look.

“You’re no fun,” the Witch sighed. “Fine, then. Here’s what I would really do: extract your hope, pride, serenity, focus, faith, and self-actualization, then bottle and label them accordingly on my shelves- you know, the standard routine. I wasn’t far off, really. I assure you that there really won’t be much vitality left in you afterward I’m done.” 

“Right. I suppose it’s a good thing that I don’t have many of those traits in the first place,” Kyoko said, only half-joking.

“Oh, darling, don’t be so hard on yourself. I can see them right now. In fact,” The Witch frowned, cocking her head. “They’re all strung up around you, like an interconnected web. One pluck of the strings, and you would go tumbling. Let’s see - '' the Witch reached out as if to cup Kyoko’s face in the crook of her hand. The detective flinched back instinctively, then was promptly hit by a wave of wooziness. A high-pitched ringing began to echo distantly in her ears. 

“ _ What. Did. You. Do to me _ ,” Kyoko gritted through her teeth, grabbing the edges of the table with white knuckles as she suddenly began to fight to stay conscious. 

“Nothing you didn’t do to yourself.” The Witch simpered, batting a nervously pulsating ball of string between her claws. “Are you enjoying your little trial run? Stress isn’t even one of the things I was planning on taking from you, but I can’t help it - it’s just so endearing to watch stoic, no-nonsense people like you fall apart.”   
  


Kyoko’s thoughts navigated sluggishly through the oppressive fog clouding her mind. Vaguely, she knew that she had to get out - falling asleep in the lion’s den was a far cry from her original plan. From somewhere far, far, away, she thought she heard a giggle like broken glass. Reality slowed down. A terrible queasy panic began to tighten her chest at the thought of losing control, giving her heart a brief lollop before giving way to infectious drowsiness. She pushed back her chair and stumbled to her feet, summoning the energy to pinch her own arm,  _ hard _ , until droplets of blood welled from the half-moon imprints left by her nails. She had to regain control, she couldn’t fall asleep here, she -

...Why couldn’t she, again? The plush carpet was so soft, and the room was so warm, and all thoughts of her mission had drifted so far away. Up bled into down. There was nothing to worry about anymore. Her heartbeat slowed. It had been so long since she had shut her eyes for longer than an instant, so long since she had  _ let _ herself become deaf, blind, and numb. All she had to do was give in to what her body was asking for, just this once…

Cool iron dug into the holster on her thigh. Reeling her mind back through the grogginess, Kyoko inched floating fingers down her leg and touched the gun. 

The Witch regarded the detective curled up on her carpet with something akin to fond amusement. “You know, as much as I’d like to leave you like this, you still haven’t answered some very important questions that I’d like answered. I’m afraid this -'' she sent the string floating down at Kyoko with a careless flick of her fingers - “belongs to you.”

Static shocked the back of Kyoko’s neck. Her pulse sped up again, matching the currents of adrenaline that pulsed through her spine. Bloodshot eyes blew open. A ragged breath tore its way through her lungs as she stumbled to her knees, gripping the handle tightly. The harsh scrape of metal on metal reverberated loudly through the room as she cocked the gun and aimed for the dead center of the Witch’s heart.

“Listen to me,” Kyoko spoke, deadly calm as she locked her stormy gaze on the Witch. “I want to be very clear. You will not be taking anything of mine without permission again. If you do, I will kill you. Understood?”   
  


For several moments, the Witch was still. Minutely, her shoulders began to shudder. An unnaturally wide smile spread across her face, contorting her cheeks and eyelids until the urge to laugh became too great to contain. She tossed back her head and  _ cackled _ , glass bells thrown to the wind, and for the first time her laughter sounded genuine. Despite herself, Kyoko flinched.

All too suddenly, the laughter halted. “Well then?” The Witch touched her forehead to the barrel of the gun, blinking up at Kyoko beneath fluttering half-lidded eyelashes. “Take your best aim, detective.”

Seconds ticked by. Kyoko’s index finger trembled on the trigger. The Witch tutted, then straightened her posture, clearly irritated by her opponent’s hesitation. 

“Tch. Suit yourself. A word of advice, dearie: don’t try to wield cards that you don’t know how to use-”

  
  


**_BANG_ ** _. _

The blast recoiled back against Kyoko’s shoulder. The shot had reverberated much louder than expected, and the ringing in her ears had returned with a vengeance. The acrid smell of gunpowder burned through her nostrils. A bloody scream thoroughly scathed what little of her eardrums the blast had not decimated. The Witch had dropped to the carpet in a heap of black lace, her position not unlike Kyoko’s from only moments earlier. The wailing of anguish as she cradled her leg was in such earnest that one could almost feel sorry for her.

Almost. Kyoko had observed the bullet travelling cleanly through the Witch’s calf without drawing a single drop of blood. To her credit, her opponent had been quick to grasp her leg with a manicured hand and obscure the site of the wound as she had collapsed. Evidently, she had been expecting the detective to be too consumed by the shock over having  _ shot someone _ to pay attention to the blood - or rather, the lack of it.

Kyoko stepped closer, prodding the Witch’s slumped body with the toe of her boot. A long, wavering keen stopped short, just as abruptly as the laughter had.

“You know,” came an irritated voice. “I am rather injured. I would appreciate a bit more space.” 

“It was very convincing,” Kyoko said, absentmindedly examining lace folds.

The Witch huffed, sitting upright. “...Clearly not convincing enough.”

“Perhaps.” Kyoko allowed herself a grin at having successfully called her opponent’s bluff. “Who’s pain was that?” 

“Excuse me? Could it be that you’re implying my acting prowess is not mine alone-” the Witch paused, swatting at prying hands. “ _ WOULD YOU STOP THAT _ ?”

Kyoko held up the empty glass vial that had just rolled out of her opponent’s sleeve, the same loopy handwriting announcing “Agony Edition #35”. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“I see - so is this the kind of situation you had in mind when you described ‘much more important matters’? Pretending to be hurt and attempting to garner my sympathy?” she deadpanned.

“For your  _ information _ ,” hissed the Witch, streaked cheeks flushed with humiliation as she stood up to dust off her skirt, “my actions were purely intended to gain more insight into your character. I was only curious to see your thoughts and reactions from an observational standpoint. I have no use for your pity.”

“You want to know my thoughts? Let’s start with this bottle, then.” Kyoko gently uncorked the half-empty glass, inspecting the fiery, roiling, bead-shaped embers within. “There’s fresh trace residue here up to the neck, implying that this agony has recently been consumed. That means you’re capable of actually consuming the emotions you extract, and evidently, doing so allows you to feel them.

The number on the label implies that there’s more than one type of specific brand of agony. From what I’ve seen of the other labels, you tend to only add these kinds of numbers to the negative emotions, like anxiety or lethargy. Unless you regularly pretend that you’ve been shot for visitors, or you like to feel anxious recreationally, I’d like to know your reasons for storing so many variations of negative emotions.” 

The Witch arched an eyebrow. “Oh? You seem to be overlooking the obvious solution, detective. What if if the pain is meant for-”

“Someone like me, yes.” Kyoko finished. “I’ll be testing that theory now.” A gloved finger swiped the rim of the vial, to pick up a trace amount of Agony and bring it to the detective’s lips. Kyoko tensed, bracing herself for a wave of pain. Minutes passed, her opponent’s narrowed eyes meeting her own as the  _ tick, tock _ of the grandfather clock continued steadfast. When nothing came, she tilted the bottle to empty a larger sample into the palm of her glove. She watched with cold curiosity as the embers faded through her hand and crumbled into dust mid-air.

“So it doesn’t work on me. Not like this, at least.” 

There was a long pause. Tipping her head back, the Witch barked out an incredulous laugh. “Astounding. You certainly are a reckless one, Spectator. In the short time you’ve been in the  _ enemy’s headquarters _ , you’ve poked around my belongings, drank the tea I offered you, almost fell asleep on my carpet, and tried to consume Agony Concentrate without the slightest idea of what it would have done to you had you succeeded. Tell me, are all private eyes as reckless as you?”

“You’re stalling,” said Kyoko, pointedly ignoring the fact that everything her opponent said had been true. She tipped the bottle of Agony upside down, noting the Witch’s obvious dismay as she allowed the remaining contents to dissolve in the carpet. “What’s your reason for collecting these?”

A calculated look flickered through her opponent’s gaze, then hardened into resolve. Withering words wobbled on the cusp of being unspoken. “...Fine, then. If you insist on knowing the truth, I suppose I can answer  _ one _ of your questions. Come with me.”


	3. you were the sweetest apparition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which they play rock paper scissors! (but like, super dramatically)  
> ...i did not get this chapter beta'd. edits will probably be made later if you see mistakes i am sorry

Kyoko almost felt the urge to laugh upon seeing a comically large cauldron in the fireplace. The entire room seemed to have been decorated with the intent to convey the most dramatically witch-like energies possible: black candles dripped from iron sconces made to look like claws, and animal skulls were placed neatly atop stacks of thick, dusty tomes. Shelves lined the walls here too, each hollow filled with familiar-looking vials. 

Sensing her amusement, the Witch scowled. “What happens to be so funny?”

“You have a lovely home,” said Kyoko, tone completely flat. 

“And you have lovely taste,” the Witch snipped back, equally insincere.

Kyoko really did laugh then, dipping her head down as she gave a soft chuckle. The way her opponent’s eyes widened at the sound went unnoticed.

“It seems we’re getting off track -” the Witch cleared her throat, fiercely sweeping away every ridiculous thought that likened the detective’s smile to starlight with a languid motion of her arms - “I welcome you to my lair, Spectator. Would you like the grand tour?”

“I would, yes,” Kyoko replied as she paced through the kitchen, peering at the contents of the shelves with inquisitive eyes. “...Starting with these bottles. I notice some of them are labeled a bit differently: they aren’t really describing emotions so much as specific experiences. This one says ‘ _ Getting Used as Target Practice for Bullies _ ’, and this one says ‘ _ Sleeping With My Boss for a Promotion _ ’. Why is that?”

“Why, they’re memories, of course. People don’t just come to me in hopes of gambling away their pathetic pain and fears and whatnot - some of them want me to erase their embarrassing old memories, the kind that keep them awake at night. Some of them are particularly interesting, indeed.” A crooked leer spread across her opponent’s face as she reached over Kyoko’s shoulder to pluck a vial from the shelf. The label listed, in looping cursive, “ _ Penis Stuck in Garbage Disposal _ ”.

The detective blinked, then shuddered. “...So you store memories, fears, and emotions all right beside each other? That seems like it could get messy.”

“The three are more closely linked than you could ever imagine, dear,” murmured the Witch, hand resting on the base of her throat as she carefully placed the vial back on the shelf. For the umpteenth time that night, Kyoko felt the urge to reach for her pocketwatch. Perhaps if she paused time, she might be able to reach into the vexing undercurrent of information left unsaid, analyzing the missing shards of every taunting clue she’d been given. 

“I won’t keep you waiting for much longer though,” the Witch said lightly, interrupting Kyoko’s train of thought. “After all, I brought you here to answer a question, didn’t I?” 

“Right - and I assume your reasons for collecting all of these are related somehow?”

“Correct!” cheered the Witch. “Perhaps you really do have some brains in that pretty little head of yours after all.

“Over the years, I’ve brewed and perfected countless recipes for top-grade nightmares. Each requires the perfect balance of primal fears, haunting memories from the past, and logic-overwhelming emotions.”

The Witch paused, looking rather miffed by the skepticism in the detective’s face. “Do you have something you would like to say to me?”

“...You call yourself a witch. And you brew  _ nightmares _ .” Kyoko deadpanned. “Do you do it in that cartoonishly big cauldron over there?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” her opponent sniffed. “And if you’ll be so kind as to  _ let me finish _ , you’ll see how. You see, the key to preventing the contents of each bottle from disintegrating at once is involving a solvent. The solvent, of course, is...” 

Kyoko waited - with a touch of exasperation - for the dramatic pause to swell and ripen before the Witch continued. 

“...Pomegranate tea.”

Lead sunk to the pit of the detective’s stomach as she sunk to the floor. Kyoko swallowed, tongue dry as she recalled the fruity notes of the tea she had so carelessly partaken in earlier. Insides churning with nausea, she scrambled to peel off her gloves, sending fingers to the back of her throat, chest heaving for air as she willed herself to retch, to get it  _ out _ \- 

Cold hands gripped her shoulders, barely registering through the panic.

“That’s your second time tonight, mucking about on my floors. Don’t you  _ dare _ get sick in that cauldron - hasn’t anyone ever taught you manners?” The Witch tilted her head, a combination of amusement and annoyance reflected in her face as she stared down at the detective. “If you’re in such a state over that tea you had earlier, I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. Despite my teasings, what I told you earlier about never resorting to cheap tactics was true.” 

Freezing in place, Kyoko glared up at her opponent with as much spite she could possibly muster with two fingers in her mouth. 

“Besides,” sighed the Witch, flicking the detective’s forehead with sharp red fingernails, “if there really had been a nightmare in that tea I had given you, it would have taken effect much sooner.” 

A long, incredulous pause passed. Kyoko took a shuddering breath and wiped her hand on her skirt, quelling every wild urge that told her to grab a dusty tome off the countertop and smack her opponent over the head with it. “There was absolutely  _ no _ reason you couldn’t have started with that.”

The Witch shrugged noncommittally, a cheeky smile curving her lips. “Well, it’s like I mentioned earlier - watching you struggle is rather entertaining.” 

An exasperated sigh escaped the detective as she rose to her feet, quietly cursing herself for having let down her guard once again.

“Although,” her opponent continued, strolling over to the far side of the room to swing open a cabinet full of dark, glistening, potions, “I must admit that I am curious to know how nightmares  _ would _ work on you, in that little dreamscape of yours. Since I’ve provided you an answer to one of your curiosities, isn’t it only fair that you answer one of mine?"

“What are you suggesting?” The words spilled slowly from Kyoko’s lips, like molten metal. 

The Witch spun on her heel, eyes sparkling. “Let’s do a test run.” 

“A test run?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Witch, impatiently. “If we are to carry out our little bet, it’s only fair that I get a chance to look around the playing field before we dive right in. Knowing how it works exactly will help me get a better sense of the rules to set for the game. It’s only logical, isn’t it?”

_ Logical.  _ The word echoed numbly in Kyoko’s ears, enveloping her brain with cotton. Her actions tonight had been anything but logical, as her inner voice kept reminding her - and there was nothing to blame for it besides her own incompetence. Strings of stress thrummed through her veins as she mentally berated herself for just how reckless she had been to enter the enemy’s lair unprepared. 

Ever since Kyoko had first received the case, she had spent sleepless weeks chasing well-covered tracks, interviewing eyewitnesses, collecting files, and painstakingly sorting through nightmares. The child-snatching Decoy Witch had been treated as something of an urban legend in town: each description of her varied wildly, and many more had dismissed her existence altogether. The only people who had been willing to divulge details were either gamblers and drunkards - often both - babbling on about how their game with the Witch had stolen their happiness. 

After trailing one dead end after another, she had finally,  _ finally, _ found her target - only to plunge straight into danger the moment she found an opening. All that time she had spent preparing and planning for today had been time wasted; she had tripped over her own haste to make progress, and now -

Now she was being propositioned to  _ rehearse _ for a fucked-up transcendental mind game against the enemy. The ceramic slice of the Witch’s smile, the crooked challenge in her brow, the coy phrases that rolled so easily from her tongue in passing, had all inexplicably swept Kyoko up in a grand wave. Every time a new alarm bell tittered in her mind, fascination (or was it apathy?) would sweep in to muffle each voice, one by one. 

The Witch’s game was a ticking time bomb, one that threatened to tear her limb from limb if not correctly diffused. Surprisingly, Kyoko found that she didn’t mind the game - nor the stakes. 

She found herself nodding slowly before she even realized it. “Each dreamscape differs from person to person, and since you’re - well, not entirely even a person, it might be best to get our bearings of what it’ll be like before we dive right into it.”

The Witch clasped her hands together, grin sparkling with delight. “I’m so glad you see it my way, darling. I’ll even allow you the honor of picking out a nightmare yourself. Go on; anything on the shelves is fair game. I guarantee everything is top-notch.”

“And is this intended for you or me?” asked Kyoko, warily approaching the cabinet of nightmares. 

“That’s a good question,” replied the Witch, eyes wide as she pretended to be lost in thought. “Ah, I know! What if we were to settle this with a game of Blackjack -”

“Rock Paper Scissors will do fine.”

“You’re no fun,” her opponent pouted. “Fine, have it your way:

_ Rock _ ,  _ Paper _ ,  _ Scissors _ .”

The two of them compared hands. Kyoko’s right, shrouded in black leather, was balled into the shape of a fist. Her opponent’s left mirrored hers with the exception of two pale fingers splayed outwards in a crude mimic of scissor blades.

Scowling, the witch snapped her fingers shut with a vigor that made it seem as if she wanted actual scissor blades with which to splice her rival in half with instead.

“...Best of three?” The detective offered, hiding a grin.

_ Rock, Paper, Scissors. _

Kyoko presented a fist once more. This time, however, the Witch held up a level hand with triumph, briefly enclosing Kyoko’s fist in her palm.

_ Rock, Paper, Scissors. _

A tie. Both had chosen paper. They circled around each other, observing their opponent’s defenses.

_ Rock, Paper, Scissors. _

A tie again. Both had chosen rock. Kyoko weighed her options. There was a high probability that the Witch would choose scissors next, which would mean she needed to choose rock once again -

_ Rock, Paper, Scissors. _

Rock. Paper. The Witch’s open palm enveloped Kyoko’s fist for the second time, seeping ice through the detective’s veins. 

She had lost. 


End file.
